


No Choice

by SweetSorcery



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Obscurus, Angst and Feels, Awkward Kissing, Courage, Don’t copy to another site, First Kiss, Gellert Grindelwald Never Impersonated Percival Graves, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Male Slash, Mutual Pining, Pining, Protective Original Percival Graves, Realization, Religious Guilt, Romance, Slash, Smitten Original Percival Graves, Surprise Kissing, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 11:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17365439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: Weeks of meeting with Mr Graves, and being witness to something unexpected, have made Credence braver than he has ever been.





	No Choice

A lover knows only humility, he has no choice. He steals into your alley at night, he has no choice. He longs to kiss every lock of your hair, don't fret, he has no choice. In his frenzied love for you, he longs to break the chains of his imprisonment, he has no choice.  
—Rumi

 

Credence doesn't consider himself particularly brave. Quite the opposite. And yet, ever since he's been meeting Mr Graves, who is kind to him and listens to him and even heals his hands when needed, he has begun to think that, maybe, he could learn to take risks now and then.

Not at home, where any defiance of the rules, even imagined, results in punishment and pain, and where nothing would be gained. 

Risk should be worth it, Credence thinks, and he trusts Mr Graves not to punish him with pain. He just hopes he won't punish him by never meeting him again. That would be infinitely worse than any pain ma has ever inflicted on him.

Mr Graves has never given a reason for seeking him out that first time, and Credence doesn't need to know. Mr Graves always asks after his well-being first, then his ma's latest obsession—the evils of witchcraft, and sometimes meets him 'just to have a chat'. More often than not, Mr Graves takes him to a diner or a street vendor, insists on buying him food and hot drinks, and watches him indulge with a pleasure greater even than Credence's own; he has been better looked after since meeting Mr Graves than ever in his life. And as much as he would hate to lose those things, the loss of Mr Graves himself would weigh heaviest on his heart.

* * *

The madness took hold two evenings ago, as he was walking back to the church. Credence usually avoids looking at people for fear of being noticed himself. He tends to walk along paying close attention to his own feet, and to setting one in front of the other without stumbling. That one night was different, however.

The air was fresh and crisp, heavy with the promise of winter, and something about the scent drifting along the street from a small group of trees crowded together, reminded him of Mr Graves, and he looked up. 

In the shadow of the trees, lit only by a touch of silvery moonlight, were two men, standing closer together than Credence had ever seen men. Except for himself and Mr Graves. One of them had his back pressed to a tree trunk, while the other was supporting himself above his shoulder with one hand against the bark, his other hand on his companion's cheek.

Credence, wondering whether maybe his meetings with Mr Graves were not as unusual as he thought, ducked into a doorway, wanting to watch for a moment but not be seen. The men were talking, and the one facing the man leaning back smiled and moved in very close, and Credence held his breath. It looked almost as if he was about to... but no, men didn't do such things with each other. It was a sin.

When the kiss happened, despite all of God's laws against it, it shook Credence to the core. He watched the other man's arms come up around his companion's back; he was clearly perfectly happy to be kissed. Credence stood there, flustered and shaken, simply staring at the scene; whether it played out over a couple of minutes, or maybe hours, he didn't know.

When the two men looked around guiltily, then hurried away into the night, Credence remained standing there, eyes fixed on the ghost of what had just occurred. And, try as he might, he could not help but replay the scene in his mind with Mr Graves and himself. His body's reaction to doing so told him that his ma was right about him—he was destined for hell.

He fled in a panic, as if he could outrun the devil to save his immortal soul, even while he knew it was useless; his soul was no longer his own.

* * *

Now he is wandering aimlessly near the church, hoping to see his Mr Graves. It's been days, and if he cannot put his plan into action tonight, he knows he will lose his nerve and won't ever try. Maybe that would be best, he tells himself, because to lose these meetings with Mr Graves, _to lose Mr Graves_ , would devastate him.

"Credence," comes the familiar voice from the darkness somewhere to his left, and his heart has analysed whose voice it is, and has seized up with a joyful pain of recognition, before his hearing can even catch up.

"Mr Graves." Credence's voice is trembling. He can only see the dark silhouette of the man between buildings, but he knows it so well after meeting him for weeks, he could never mistake him for anyone else, even if he hadn't spoken.

"Are you all right, Credence?"

He jolts. He got so lost in thought, he's making Mr Graves wait. "I'm sorry, sir, I'm fine. I was just distracted."

"Come here, Credence." The deep voice gentles him as if he's a startled lamb, and he does its bidding.

Mr Graves draws him close and turns him a little, until the nearest street light illuminates his face; Credence hates his face— so pale, with hollow cheeks, and what his ma calls "unmanly" lips; she looks at him with suspicion, as if he's asked to be given the full, soft mouth of a girl.

Mr Graves never looks at him as if he hates his face. His dark eyes are soft as they move over his features, assessing him as if to see whether he's telling the truth about being fine. "You sounded upset. I'm just making sure she hasn't hurt you again."

"No, Mr Graves. I've kept out of her way since I last saw you."

"Good." Mr Graves' hands on his upper arms rub up and down gently. He's probably not even aware he's doing it, but it warms Credence through and through. "I'm sorry it's been so long since last time. Work has been busy, and I haven't been able to get away during the day. And I know it's awkward for you to come out at night."

Credence nods. "It's okay, Mr Graves, I understand." He does, but he would give anything to see the man every single day, every single hour of every day, even though that's completely unreasonable.

"I did come by a couple of nights ago, but you seemed in such a hurry to get home, and you never heard me calling out."

Credence stares. "Oh, but—" A couple of nights ago. That was when he saw those two men kiss, and he hurried home in something of a frenzy, blind to everything around him, and deaf too, apparently. "I'm so sorry, Mr Graves." He's on the verge of tears; to have missed out on a possible meeting!

"Don't worry, it's fine." Mr Graves smiles at him, then frowns. "Hey, I'm not angry you didn't hear me, if that's what you think." He looks at him with concern. "Credence?"

Credence can't look at him, or he thinks he will cry, but he's not given a choice. His chin is lifted by the thumb and two fingers of Mr Graves' hand. "I don't think that, Mr Graves. I'm just so sorry I didn't hear you. I should have." His voice cracks a little.

"Shh," Mr Graves hushes him gently, drawing him close and, when Credence doesn't immediately put his head on his shoulder, holding himself stiffly instead, he nudges it into the crook of his neck with his hand. "It's really not a problem. You must have had something on your mind."

"Yes," Credence says miserably, mentally adding, 'you. I thought about how much I want to kiss you. I've thought about nothing else since.'

"Can you tell me about it?" Mr Graves prompts, without making it a demand. He even adds, "if you want."

Credence closes his eyes, breathes the wintery, yet warm, scent of the man, which saturates his fine clothes. "I want to, but... I'm scared, Mr Graves." 

"Oh, Credence, you never need to be scared with me, I promise." His voice is so reassuring. Warm. Coaxing.

"No matter what?" Credence mumbles into the soft blue scarf against his face. He feels Mr Graves' hands stroking up and down his back, and he thinks he'll never feel braver than he does right then.

"No matter what," Mr Graves confirms but, of course, he doesn't know the corruption in Credence's heart.

Credence decides to trust in the man's honesty and kindness, and pulls back just far enough to meet his eyes. "Instead of telling you, may I show you?"

"Show me?" The dark brows rise a little, maybe in surprise at the request, or at the way Credence can't help the way his eyes flutter closed for a moment at the feel of his breath on the boy's lips. "Yes, I suppose so."

There is just enough time for Mr Graves' lips to turn up in a small, encouraging smile before Credence leans in and presses his mouth to them. Too hard. Too frantic. As if kissing Mr Graves hard enough can prevent him from noticing what he's doing and pushing him away. Their teeth clink and it doesn't feel good at all, and Credence falls apart inside, thinking he's risked everything for nothing.

Mr Graves' hands are on his arms then, and he's pushing him back, holding him at arm's length and staring at him wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't you?" Mr Graves looks at him steadily.

He doesn't sound angry, he sounds almost teasing, but Credence doesn't trust his own judgment at all now. "Please, sir..." he starts, not knowing how to finish.

"Credence, we're friends, aren't we?"

Credence meets the brown eyes and nods, feeling miserable. Friends. Yes, that's all they can ever be, and he should have been content with that.

"And friends are honest with each other." Mr Graves waits until Credence nods his agreement. "So, why are you pretending you didn't mean to kiss me?"

"Because I..." Credence tries to fold in on himself, wishing he was invisible. "Because I don't want you to hate me. I'm a freak, and a sinner, and an abomination in the eyes of God, and I don't deserve kindness, but if you hated me too, like everyone else, I would no longer want to—"

He is silenced by Mr Graves' index finger across his lips. "Oh, you brave, beautiful boy."

Credence is staring at him, unable to speak in the face of two such outrageous claims. He thinks his heart has stopped.

"You think such terrible things about yourself, simply for wanting to kiss me, and yet you did it anyway?" The finger leaves his lips, and the man's whole palm cups Credence's cheek. He looks at him as if he adores him. "Don't you think that's brave?"

"No. I... I don't know."

The lips Credence has just assaulted turn up in a smile, and his heart starts up again, at twice its normal pace. "Well, I think it is," Mr Graves tells him. "There are just two things we need to be quite sure of now."

Credence nods, completely helpless as to what to do or say next.

" _Why_ did you kiss me?"

Oh. He opens his mouth, wanting to explain how much he longs for Mr Graves while they're apart, how much he needs to see him and feel his presence, hear his voice, breathe his scent, how much he... loves him. Loves him. Oh God, loves him so much. But all he can do is look at him with helpless hunger, and all he can say is, "I had to, Mr Graves. I couldn't help myself."

For a moment, Mr Graves looks as if he needs more explanation than that, but then his gaze moves over every feature of Credence's face by turns, gleaning all the answers he needs from the shining eyes, the parted lips, the flushed cheeks... and a slow, soft smile curves his mouth. "I see."

Credence is fighting not to avert his gaze. "What's the other thing? You said there are two things we need to be sure of."

Mr Graves raises his heavy brows. "Isn't it obvious?" When Credence slowly shakes his head, Mr Graves' eyes drop to his lips, and he caresses the seam of them with his thumb. "We need to do it properly, without the panic."

Credence's mouth opens in surprise, and the thumb tip touches the tip of his tongue for a moment, before it is retracted and replaced by Mr Graves' mouth on his. And Credence makes a little startled, needy sound in the back of his throat, to which Mr Graves responds with a low groan, one hand tightening on Credence's nape, the other sliding under his short jacket and to the base of his spine to pull him close.

Oh. Oh! This is what a kiss should be, Credence knows then. Feeling faint with need, he just clings to Mr Graves with his fingers twisted in the blue scarf behind his neck, not daring to improvise, just mirroring everything Mr Graves does, from angling his head so their lips fit perfectly—tender but urgent until the need for a gasp of air becomes overwhelming, then kissing open-mouthed, tongues sliding against each other. He can taste Mr Graves' breath, with a faint hint of some kind of alcohol, or maybe dark, bitter chocolate—Credence is not familiar enough with either to be sure.

He dares to let one hand slide up the back of Mr Graves' head, fingers seeking the sharp edge where silver turns black, unexpectedly soft hair caressing his calloused skin. He is rewarded for his daring with a brief but intense suction on his tongue, which makes him whimper with the intensity of his body's reaction.

When his lips are eventually released, he almost stumbles, but Mr Graves is still holding him, their mouths close enough that no one but Credence could hear the smoothly whispered, "So much better, don't you think?"

"Uh huh," Credence mutters, feeling as if he's floating in some strange heaven of his own making, or maybe he's merely dreaming. He hopes not. He earns himself a soft chuckle, as if Mr Graves can read his mind; Credence wouldn't be surprised if he can.

Mr Graves caresses his right cheek with his knuckles, looking at him as if he is something precious. "Thank you, my sweet boy," he says softly.

"For what, Mr Graves?" Credence is confused, his voice tremulous. He feels as if he should be the grateful one. He should be falling at Mr Graves' feet.

"For being braver than I was," Mr Graves says, to his amazement. "I might have kept pretending to be worried about your mother's evil, but completely ineffective, schemes for months yet, just to keep seeing you."

There's a startled little laugh, and Credence realises it came from him. "Does that mean you've thought about kissing me too, Mr Graves?"

Mr Graves looks deep into his eyes, and the darkness in his own makes Credence tremble. "That and more, sweetheart." His voice is just as deep as his gaze, burrowing right to the centre of Credence, making a home there.

"Please tell me," Credence whispers, being brave again, he supposes, if only to impress Mr Graves.

And Mr Graves holds him so tight, lips caressing Credence's ear while he whispers things to him—beautiful, wicked, wonderful things, and promises too of a life filled with pleasure instead of pain. And there is no choice but to listen to his heart, and to the heart he feels beating against his.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://sweetsorcery.tumblr.com/), and we can squee about this and maybe other pairings/fandoms we love. :)
> 
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> Copyright of this fandom, some settings and its characters - J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and possibly other right holders. This story is written purely for the entertainment of fans, and no profit is made.


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